


He Ate My Heart (You Little Monster)

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bondage, Ejaculate, Forced Orgasm, Misogyny, Multi, Threats, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik decides to teach Emma a lesson about earning her keep in the Brotherhood. Set after "First Class."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Lady GaGa's "Monster."

In retrospect, there had been problems right off the bat. From the get-go, Emma had been obstinate; when Erik had 'rescued' her from her CIA cell, she'd followed him, but he'd noted the smug satisfaction on her face, the expression that told him she'd just been biding her time. She hadn't needed him to rescue her in any capacity. If anything, she'd simply been waiting to see who would come out on top.

Still, as weeks and then months pass, Emma's shitty attitude doesn't improve. She picks fights with Azazel and Riptide and even Erik at the drop of a hat; she's rude to Mystique; and she doesn't seem to care one way or the other about Angel. Erik hears the complaints from the others, of course; at first, he writes them off, tries to ignore them, tries to pretend that it's below him to care about the interpersonal conflicts between his fellow mutants, even though he's technically their leader. After a while, however, he can no longer ignore the fact that Emma is bringing the Brotherhood's already low morale down even lower with her constant negativity and general bitchyness.

The final straw still manages to surprise them both. Often, Erik sends the Brotherhood out in small teams, mostly to recruit other mutants and supplies for their cause; unfortunately, one of the hard-learned lessons of running a rebellion is that it costs a lot of money, and Erik is no Charles Xavier, born with a silver spoon up his ass. Erik had learned an even harder lesson early in his life about the importance of being self-sufficient, but it's still difficult to have to tell other people who rely on him that they might go hungry for a couple of nights in a row here and there until things pick up for them. In spite of all that has happened in the past few months, Erik dislikes being a disappointment.

The first problem in this instance is that Emma refuses to work with anyone else. In addition, she doesn't like to get her hands dirty; she balks when Erik tells everybody that they're going to be trained in hand-to-hand combat, flat-out refusing to do it, even when he points out that it's actually quite easy to restrain a telepath. "I'll take my chances," she tells him haughtily, and then flounces off.

The second problem is that Emma thinks all of Erik's plans are stupid, and has no problem telling him so. The third is that she likes to disappear for inordinate amounts of times - again, not for anything useful, as far as Erik can tell - and refuses to tell anybody where she is. She's been gone for two whole days when she saunters through the door of the Brotherhood's base this time, and Erik's hackles are already raised.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he demands, striding towards her. In response, Emma simply takes in his outfit - she's been derisive of the helmet and the cape and his newly-christened name since they joined forces - and smirks.

"Out," she finally says, her tone breezy, her eyes amused slivers. "How are things?" she continues, and Erik growls.

"Why do I even pretend that you're useful to me?" he snaps at her. "You don't work. You don't treat your teammates decently, or me, for that matter. In fact, you're a total bitch. Name one reason I shouldn't throw you out on your bony ass."

Emma looks unfazed. "Telepath," she says simply. It's a good reason, Erik has to concede. Though Emma is a far cry from Charles, he wasn't lying when he told her that he wanted her to fill a gap in his life; or at the very least, in his quest for mutant domination.

Still, Emma's impressive powers aren't enough anymore for her to escape criticism. "I don't understand," Erik says, trying a different tactic. "Surely you didn't act like this for Shaw."

Emma's eyes flash a little, and Erik feels gratified. "Don't talk to me about Sebastian, Erik," she tells him coolly, but Erik can see he's struck a nerve.

"It's Magneto," he corrects her. "And I can say anything I damned well please about Shaw. The man killed my mother. He tortured me for years, made me into his puppet. He caused countless people pain. Death was too kind a resolution for him."

"Yes, I'm sure having a coin pushed through your skull is a piece of cake." Emma's smirk deepens when Erik looks caught off-guard. "What, you think you're the only one who knows what all happened that day?" She pauses to let this sink in, and then moves in for the kill: "By the way, nice job making Xavier hold him for you. At least he lived through the experience."

"What do you mean?" Erik rasps, his eyes wide.

Emma laughs a little. "He felt everything you did to Shaw," Emma tells him, and Erik feels the blood drain from his face in horror. "Pretty interesting that he stayed, especially after you just left him paralyzed on the beach." Erik continues to look shocked and she snorts. "I hope it was worth it for him - and for you," she laughs.

Erik's fists clench. "Fuck off, Emma," he gets out, but she's practically cackling at him now, her voice high and grating.

"You had a pretty interesting relationship with him, didn't you?" she coos. "Did you ever let him top, or did you just fuck him and then kick him out of your bed? It wouldn't surprise me," she says idly, and Erik looms closer, crowding her.

"I'm serious, Emma. Shut. The fuck. Up. Now."

Emma reaches out and strokes the rim of Erik's helmet. He jerks away furiously. "See, that's the problem with how you do things around here, Erik," she criticizes, and his eyes blaze slightly less as he tunes in. "You're no fun. At least Sebastian was fun."

Erik grits his teeth, his hands coming up to grip tightly at her arms. "Was he fun?" he asks mockingly, his voice very quiet, now. "Did he fuck you, Emma? Is that why you miss him so much?" He looks her over with a sneer. "What's the matter, you can't get it from anyone else but a murderer? Or is that just what gets you off?"

Emma's mouth quirks a little. "I wouldn't bandy words like 'murderer' around so lightly if I were you, sugar," she admonishes. When Erik's grip on her arms does not relinquish in the slightest, she squirms. "Leave me alone, Erik," she hisses, and tries to pull away, but Erik holds fast.

"No," he says simply, and then, without warning, shoves her backwards, against a rickety metal table that somebody in the Brotherhood found near a dumpster or at a rummage sale or something and brought back to their (admittedly, Spartan) headquarters. Emma stumbles, and is then tugged down atop the surface by metal arms that Erik manipulates the cheap piece of furniture to grow. Bits of the table wrap around her wrists and then ankles like cold tentacles, and when she starts to transform in order to give herself the best chance of escape, Erik glowers at her.

"Change into diamond form and I will fucking crack your neck."

The transformation stops, albeit reluctantly. Limbs spread, Emma glares up at him with an unreadable expression, though Erik senses a hint of fear. He savors it as he leans down. "Is this why you miss Shaw so much, Emma?" he croons, his eyes flashing. "Did you like it when he played rough? Was it ever even consenting?"

"I can show you if you'll take off that helmet," Emma snorts, and then squawks. "What are you doing?" she asks, watching (feeling) Erik tugging her skirt up her thighs. He grips at the waistband of her underwear, hooking the thin elastic around his thumbs before tugging them down her legs, and she tries unsuccessfully to kick at him. She hears the fabric rip. "Erik, fucking stop this, right now," she bites out.

"No," Erik responds swiftly. She feels him parting her thighs - they're shaking a little of their own accord, now - and then hears him spit. Then, suddenly, large fingers are working at her cunt, rubbing a foreign wetness between her folds, and she outright bucks against the unforgiving table. "If you're going to act like a bitch, I'm going to treat you like one," Erik tells her, his fingers now roughly pumping into her.

After a few minutes of this, of Emma tossing her head back and forth and whimpering and trying to squirm away, to no avail, of course, Erik seems to get bored. Vaguely, Emma sees him wiggling his free hand as if summoning something. Then the device smacks into his palm heavily and he holds it up, snickering. "Maybe the sex with Sebastian wasn't really that good if you had to use this," he says mockingly, and Emma sees her own personal massager being held up for her inspection. She watches the cord shoot into the nearest light socket, and then hears the soft whirring of the motor. In spite of herself, she flushes at the insinuation. She tries to anticipate the sensation, but when it comes, Erik shoving the head of the large wand directly against her clit, she has only to cry out. It actually kind of hurts, the pressure Erik is using, and when he lets up momentarily, she sags with relief, even as she recognizes that it's probably not for her benefit.

"Poor little Emma," Erik says mockingly. The device shifts a miniscule amount against her pussy, but the change is pleasurable, though she purses her lips to keep from making more than just soft sighs. A sudden jerk of the wand by Erik, likely with his magnetism powers, makes her yelp. "You're going to start pulling your weight around here," he tells her. It is not a suggestion. She nods quickly. "Also, you're going to stop complaining about how I don't run things like Shaw. If you want Shaw back, in spirit, anyway, tell me where he's pooled all his resources. The only thing he was ever good for was his money, after all." He bears down on Emma with the vibrator some more, and hears her breath hitch. "I should just leave you here, unfinished," he smirks, but she shakes her head pleadingly, and he acquiesces, allowing the vibrator to continue rubbing against her methodically until he brings her off. Her cunt is wet when he pulls the device away, and Emma watches him with some suspicion, flexing her arms a little, waiting for Erik to help her up.

Instead, he wipes his hands on a corner of her skirt and begins to stride to the door. "Erik!" Emma grouses furiously. "Let me go!"

"I don't think I'm going to do that, Emma." Erik's expression is enlightened as he seems to have an idea. Then, much to Emma's chagrin, he balls up her thong underwear and, with a bit of forced jaw-cupping once she realizes his intentions, shoves it into her mouth. "Hnnnng! Errrrkk!" she screeches, but he merely pats her condescendingly on the cheek, and then turns to leave the base altogether. "Don't move," he admonishes her with a small snort. Then he's gone, and Emma screams in frustration around the wad of cloth in her mouth.

 

*

 

Erik doesn't return for hours. Unfortunately for Emma, Azazel beats him home, Riptide, as usual, in tow. "Whoa," the red-skinned mutant exclaims, watching as Emma blinks at the sudden overhead light being switched on - the base has grown dark in the early evening hours - and flexes strained, still-bound limbs. Smirking, Azazel yanks the now-sopping underwear from Emma's mouth, and she sighs, frowning up at him dazedly.

"Azazel. Untie me, please."

Azazel cocks his head. "I dunno if I want to do that yet," he tells her honestly. He reaches out and strokes her face, and then his hand strays southward, finally stopping at her still-clothed breasts. She tries to squirm away when he tugs her bra up, but her tits bounce with the movement, and this only seems to succeed in amusing Azazel more. "What, did the boss decide to teach you a lesson or something?" he asks, taking in the metal pieces strapping her to the now-ruined table.

"Something like that," she grunts, and then hisses when Azazel pinches one of her nipples. He fondles her breasts for a while, and then peers down at her swollen cunt. He slaps at it with an open palm and she keens. "Azazel, come on, please? Please let me go," she says. It's not in her to beg, but desperation will do crazy things to a woman, she rationalizes inwardly.

Of course, Azazel does not seem to appreciate the significance of this; or if he does, it's more of the same joke to him. "Say whatever you want, sweetheart," he tells her, and she watches him with some trepidation as he starts to fumble with his own zipper. Near her spread legs, she eyes Riptide just standing there, ever the silent observer. "Janos, get in there," Azazel says suddenly, and then Riptide is taking his own pants down. When Emma looks back at Azazel again, she comes face-to-face with his erect cock. "Suck it," he tells her, bumping the head against her unwilling lips. Then he grabs the back of her head by the hair, fisting a long, blonde chunk, and she has little choice. In her head, Azazel's surface thoughts belie his true intentions: 'Gonna come on this bitch's face and tits,' he thinks, and Emma shudders, though Azazel seems to take this as encouragement to shove his dick further into her mouth. There's something even more degrading about this than being dressed down by Erik, she thinks. She can't help but wonder if that had been his intention all along: To skip out after making his own point, and then letting other members of the Brotherhood do the part that he was unable or unwilling to. Probably, she thinks. She makes a mental note not to underestimate Erik - Magneto - from now on.

Azazel's pre-come leaves a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. Riptide is also fucking her now, his cock sliding between her legs without a lot of gentleness. The only sounds he makes are soft pants and groans as he takes what she can give him, his hands gripping at her thighs and angling her roughly upwards against the metal ankle ties. She moans a bit miserably around Azazel's meaty cock, frowning at the way he pulls at her hair to keep her face in place. "God, this bitch is good," Azazel announces to Riptide, and then his dick is tugged from between her lips with a wet 'pop', and he smears the head across her cheeks a couple of times. "Good girl," he coos at her, and she closes her eyes while he unloads the rest of his jizz, feeling droplets land, as he seemed to have promised, on her face and chest and arms. "Come on, Janos, come on this whore," Azazel entreats, and soon enough, the other man's spunk joins Azazel's, albeit mostly splattering across Emma's bare stomach.

Emma shivers as an unoriginable draft passes through the room. Her limbs are aching, and she could really use a shower, or three, now. "So now that you've had your fun," she tells Azazel smoothly, though her voice is somewhat hoarse, "how about letting me up?"

"Sorry," Azazel shrugs unforgivingly. "Don't wanna piss the boss off. Maybe he wants you here for a reason." Then he grabs up her wadded panties from where they've fallen to the ground, and uses them to wipe up some of the excess come on her body. Emma thrashes wildly when Azazel starts to shove the now soiled ball back between her teeth, but to no avail; pinching her nose shut, he eventually 'convinces' her to open her mouth enough to tuck them back inside. She watches Azazel and Riptide smirk down at her for several long moments, not caring about decorum or dignity anymore. Still, she's not surprised when they, too, abandon her in the end, and she listens to a clock tick somewhere behind her and thinks about how this never happened when Sebastian was around. 'Probably just because he never thought of it,' she realizes glumly, and then she sighs and waits for Erik to come back and decide that she's sufficiently earned her keep.

 

*

 

"... and then they left, too. Angel and Mystique were finally the ones who chiseled me out of there. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to explain to someone why you're covered in other people's spunk with your own underwear shoved down your throat?" Cross-legged and cross, Emma glowers at the young man sitting across from her, even more so when her story elicits a soft lilting laugh.

"Can't say that I have, darling." Charles Xavier cocks his head, looking her up and down with a raised eyebrow. "It seems as though you've survived the encounter, however," he acknowledges, and then steeples his fingers. "And ... perhaps, too, you understand Erik's point in administering that sort of punishment?"

"Because he's an asshole," Emma grouses, and hears Charles laugh again. She takes in the neat way he's propped up in his (all metal, she can't help but notice, as if there's a point to be made with it) wheelchair, and frowns. "You know that better than anyone, Xavier."

Charles' smile diminishes slightly, though his expression is still soft, even wistful. "Erik is a good man," he sighs, and then adds, "even a fair one. He just wants to make sure you pull your weight," he smirks, eyes twinkling a bit.

"You're just like him," Emma rolls her eyes. "Well," she concedes a moment later, "maybe not. I doubt you would have made him hold someone still while you murdered them."

"No, probably not," Charles intones quietly, and looks away briefly. "I do wish you hadn't told him that," he says ruefully, and Emma shrugs. Sensing a lost cause when he sees one, Charles uncorks the half-full bottle of wine sitting on the desk behind him and holds it up. "Another glass, love?" he asks Emma, and she nods.


	2. Charles/Emma's Standing Appointment

"They used to treat women for hysteria up until the early 20th century in this manner," Charles tells Emma conversationally. The small, white vibrator is already whirring and gently stimulating her cunt, and she moans softly, but is yet unable to let the comment rest without her own acerbic input:

"You Oxford boys have the strangest ideas about what constitutes foreplay."

Charles' grin is enormous. "I've never heard any formal complaints," he boasts, and Emma rolls her eyes in response. Then she supposes, watching him concentrate on getting her off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, lower lip chewed thoughtfully, that she could be doing worse. Charles is a far cry from Sebastian Shaw, or even Erik, but there's something about the way he almost seems to go out of his way to appear disarming when he's anything but that just kind of works.

Her breath hitches suddenly, and Charles smiles. "Come on, love," he coaxes, and Emma can feel his mind nudging hers, latching onto her pleasure center and drawing out whatever is making it light up so fantastically. He drives the device home again and again, hitting just the right spot every time, and Emma shudders and tosses her head back and comes, eventually wiggling so that Charles will remove the slim machine from between her legs. She watches him grab a tissue and wipe it off, and then he offers her a hand so that she can propel herself off of his desk. "Same time next week, then?" he asks teasingly, and Emma raises an eyebrow.

"I'll pencil it into my busy schedule," she remarks dryly, and Charles laughs.

*

She's a little earlier than usual for their next meeting; for some reason, Erik had been quiet and somewhat less judgmental than usual that morning, and then he'd disappeared mysteriously, leaving Emma nominally to her own devices. She realizes, standing outside of Charles Xavier's study, that she might be enjoying these 'dates' (Charles' term, offered with a salacious eyebrow and a playful clinking of their wine glasses together in a toast) far too much. She shrugs and tells herself that this'll be her last visit.

There's something strange lingering in Charles' surface thoughts that she can't quite put her finger on. Nonetheless, she swings open the door, preparing to take up residence in her usual spot on Charles' desk ('you really need one of those doctor's chairs to complete the delusion,' she told him the last time she was here, and he'd just chuckled), ... and then stops.

The head bobbing in Charles' lap is helmeted, the face turned away, but Emma is, for some reason, completely unsurprised at this turn of events. "Aaahh, E-Erik, God," Charles is moaning, and Emma can't help but admire the way Erik's - Magneto's - hands carefully grip at Charles' thighs, holding them gently open as he sucks Charles' cock. The noises emanating from his mouth peter off abruptly when Charles yelps, "Emma!" and then Erik's head is swiveled, glaring at her with narrowed eyes and no small amount of animosity.

Charles, ever the gentleman, however, merely grins cheekily at her. "If you could give us another, oh, five or ten minutes, love? You're a bit early today. Thanks." The door shuts behind her of its own accord, and she can hear it locking with a soft 'click.' "I think my work here is done," she murmurs to herself, and whistles a little as she shows herself out of Charles' gigantic house.


End file.
